Chapter Eleven
Violet
I'm starting to understand why engineers design systems with redundancy protocols.
Because right now, watching Jason navigate his third interview request of the week while simultaneously being approached by a group of girls who definitely weren't interested in hockey before Tuesday night, I realize that some systems aren't built to handle this kind of sudden load increase.
"Violet!" Sage calls from across the campus coffee shop, waving me over to where she's commandeered a corner table. "Over here, before you start analyzing social dynamics like they're mechanical systems."
I make my way through the crowd, trying not to notice the way conversations seem to pause when I pass groups of people who are clearly discussing Jason's meteoric rise to campus stardom.
Being "the hockey hero's girlfriend" is apparently newsworthy enough that I've become a subject of speculation myself.
"You look like you're having an existential crisis," Sage observes as I sit down. "What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on," I say, which is technically true. "Everything's fine."
"That's the least convincing 'everything's fine' I've ever heard."
I pull out my phone and show her the latest text from Jason: Team dinner ran late, then got pulled into interviews. Rain check on dinner plans? Make it up to you tomorrow, promise.
It's the third time this week our plans have been cancelled or postponed due to Jason's new obligations.
Not cancelled because he doesn't want to see me, but because his schedule has become a complex equation involving team meetings, media requests, academic responsibilities, and social expectations that I'm not entirely sure how to handle.
"He's busy," Sage says, reading the message. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."
"I know he's busy," I reply. "And I'm happy for him—he deserves all this recognition. It's just..."
"Just what?"
"I'm trying to figure out where I fit in this new equation," I admit. "Last week, we were just two people who liked each other and could spend time together whenever our schedules aligned. Now his schedule looks like a project management flowchart, and mine hasn't changed at all."
Sage gives me that look she gets when she's about to dispense psychological wisdom. "Are you feeling neglected, or are you feeling like you don't belong in his new world?"
"Both?" I consider the question more seriously. "I mean, I understand that he has new responsibilities. But I also keep finding myself in situations where I feel like an outsider looking in."
"Such as?"
Such as yesterday, when I went to watch practice and found myself standing next to three girls who spent the entire session discussing Jason's "gorgeous eyes" and "incredible body" while rating his teammates on various physical attributes.
Such as this morning, when I overheard two girls in my engineering lab talking about how "lucky" Jason's girlfriend must be, like I'd somehow won a lottery instead of developing genuine feelings for someone I've known for weeks.
And the growing realization that dating the campus hockey hero comes with a level of social scrutiny I'm not sure I'm equipped to handle.
"It's complicated," I say finally.
"Most good things are," Sage replies. "The question is whether it's worth figuring out the complications."
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number: Hey, this is Madison from Kappa Kappa Gamma. Could we grab coffee sometime? I'd love to chat about Jason.
I stare at the message for a long moment, trying to process why someone I've never met wants to have coffee to discuss my boyfriend. And more importantly, how she got my number.
"Who's that?" Sage asks, noticing my expression.
"Apparently someone named Madison who wants to discuss Jason with me," I say, showing her the text. "But I have no idea how she got my number."
Sage reads the message and frowns. "She probably got it from the athletics department. Sorority girls are resourceful when they want something."
"You know her?"
"I know of her. She's... persistent when she sees something she wants." Sage gives me a meaningful look. “I think you should ignore her text.”
I take Sage’s advice and delete the text. I can think of several reasons why someone like Madison might want to have coffee with me, and none of them involve friendly conversation about shared interests.
"Should I be worried?" I ask.
"About Madison specifically? Probably not. About the fact that people are starting to see you as an obstacle to overcome rather than a person worth knowing? Maybe."
This is exactly what I was afraid of. That dating Jason would turn me into a target, a problem to be solved, a barrier between other people and something they want.
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from Jason: Free for lunch? I know I owe you like three make-up sessions, but I have exactly forty-five minutes before my next meeting.
Despite everything, I smile. Because forty-five minutes isn't much, but the fact that he's using his limited free time to see me instead of doing any of the dozen other things people probably want from him means something.
"Go," Sage says, reading my expression correctly. "But Violet? Don't let other people's drama become your drama. You and Jason need to figure out your own way through this."
I find Jason waiting outside the student union, leaning against a wall and scrolling through his phone with the kind of focused attention that suggests he's trying to manage an overwhelming amount of information.
When he sees me, his face lights up in a way that makes my heart do those ridiculous fluttery things.
"Hey, beautiful," he says, pushing off the wall to hug me. "Thanks for squeezing me into your busy schedule."
"My busy schedule?" I laugh, hugging him back and trying not to notice how good he smells or how solid he feels or how much I've missed this simple contact. "You're the one with the social calendar that requires a personal assistant."
"Tell me about it," Jason says, keeping his arm around me as we walk toward the food court.
"I got three more interview requests this morning, Coach wants to schedule extra practice sessions, and apparently someone started a fan page on Instagram that I'm supposed to 'engage with' according to the athletics department. "
"A fan page," I repeat. "That's... intense."
"Right? Yesterday I was nobody, and now I have fans who want me to engage with their social media content. I don't even know what that means."
We grab sandwiches and find a relatively quiet table, and for a few minutes, it feels like it used to—just us, talking about our days, enjoying each other's company.
But even here, I can see people glancing over at us, phones appearing for discrete photos, conversations that pause when we pass by.
I notice a table of sorority girls across the food court, including a familiar blonde who keeps looking in our direction.
"How are you handling all this?" I ask, gesturing vaguely at the attention we're receiving.
"Honestly? It's weird," Jason admits. "Flattering, but weird. I keep waiting for someone to tell me it's all a mistake, that they meant to give the attention to someone else."
"It's not a mistake," I tell him firmly. "You earned this, Jason. You've been working toward it for three years."
"I know," he says, reaching across the table to take my hand. "And having you believe that makes it feel real. But Vi... I'm worried about how all this affects us."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, my life has turned into this chaos of obligations and expectations and people wanting things from me, and your life has stayed the same. That doesn't seem fair."
It's such a Jason thing to say—worrying about me when he's the one dealing with unprecedented pressure and attention. But he's also right. My life has stayed the same, which means I'm watching his world expand while wondering if there's still room for me in it.
"I can handle it," I say, because I want that to be true.
"Can you? Because I know this is all new and complicated, and I don't want you to feel like you have to put up with crazy just to be with me."
Before I can answer, a girl appears at our table—tall, blonde, wearing a sorority sweatshirt and the kind of confident smile that suggests she's used to getting what she wants.
"Jason!" she says brightly, completely ignoring my presence. "I'm Madison. We met at lunch yesterday?"
I feel Jason's hand tighten around mine as he looks up at her with polite but cautious recognition.
"Right," he says carefully. "Madison."
"I just wanted to thank you again for being so sweet when we talked," Madison continues, still acting like I'm invisible. "And I wanted to remind you about that party this weekend. Everyone's going to be there, and it would be so fun to have the campus hero in attendance."
There's something about the way she says "campus hero," like it's a title that comes with certain social obligations, that makes my stomach twist.
"That's nice of you," Jason says diplomatically, "but I'm not sure what my weekend looks like yet."
"Well," Madison says, finally acknowledging my existence with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, "I'm sure you can figure something out. It would be such a shame for you to miss it because of... other commitments."
The way she says "other commitments" while looking directly at me makes it clear exactly what kind of commitment she considers disposable.
"Actually," I say, my voice steadier than I feel, "we're planning to spend the weekend together. Right, Jason?"
"Right," Jason agrees immediately, and the relief in his voice makes me think he's as uncomfortable with this conversation as I am.
Madison's smile becomes slightly more forced. "Well, maybe next time. There will definitely be other opportunities."
After she leaves, Jason and I sit in silence for a moment.
"Sorry about that," he says finally. "I have no idea how she got the impression that I was interested in her party."
"She's persistent," I say, remembering Sage's description. "And she clearly sees me as temporary."
"Well, she's wrong," Jason says firmly. "About the temporary part, I mean. You're not temporary, Violet. You're the most important part of all this."
It's exactly what I need to hear, but it's also what makes this situation so complicated. Because I believe that Jason means it, but I also understand that meaning it and being able to maintain it are two different things.
"Jason," I start, then stop, not sure how to articulate what I'm feeling.
"What is it?"
"What if this doesn't work?" I ask quietly. "What if the pressure and the attention and people like Madison make this too complicated to sustain?"
Jason is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is serious.
"Then we'll figure it out," he says. "Together. But Violet, I need you to know that none of this—the recognition, the fans, the social stuff—none of it means anything if I lose you."
"You're not going to lose me," I tell him, and I mean it. “But we need to strategize.”
"Okay," he says. "What kind of strategies are we talking about?"
"Well, we need to establish clear communication protocols for when your schedule gets crazy. And we probably need contingency plans for dealing with people who see our relationship as an obstacle to their goals."
"People like Madison."
"People like Madison," I agree. "Though I'm hoping she's the exception rather than the rule."
Jason squeezes my hand. "She is the exception. Most people are going to be happy for us."
I want to believe that, but I'm also realistic about human nature. Success changes things, whether people want it to or not. The question is whether Jason and I are strong enough to adapt without losing what makes us work in the first place.
"So what's our first strategy?" Jason asks.
"Protected time," I say immediately. "Specific blocks of time that are just for us, that don't get sacrificed for interviews or team obligations or social events."
"I like that," Jason says. "What else?"
"Honest communication about how we're feeling about all this, even when it's complicated or uncomfortable."
"Also good. Anything else?"
I consider this. "Maybe we need a signal system. A way to communicate when we're in social situations that feel overwhelming or when one of us needs support."
"A signal system," Jason repeats, looking amused and fond. "You really are going to engineer our relationship, aren't you?"
"If that's what it takes to make this work," I say seriously. "Because I want this to work, Jason. Even with all the complications."
"So do I," he says, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss my knuckles. "More than I've ever wanted anything to work."
The gesture is simple, but it sends warmth shooting up my arm and reminds me why all the strategizing and problem-solving feels worth it.
"Okay," I say. "Then we figure it out. One step at a time."
"One step at a time," Jason agrees.
And for the first time since this whole complicated situation started, I feel like we might actually be able to handle whatever comes next. Even if it includes more conversations with sorority girls who think I'm a temporary obstacle to their goals.