Chapter Thirteen
Jason
I wake up with Violet in my arms and think this might be what perfect feels like.
She's curled against my side, her hair spread across my chest, and in the soft morning light filtering through my dorm room window, everything about yesterday feels like the best decision I've ever made.
Not just the physical part—though that was incredible—but the emotional breakthrough, the way we connected on every level, the way saying "I love you" felt as natural as breathing.
My phone has been buzzing sporadically from the floor where we abandoned it yesterday afternoon, but for once, I don't care.
Whatever crisis or opportunity or social obligation thinks it deserves my attention can wait.
This moment, this peaceful quiet with Violet sleeping in my arms, is worth more than any external pressure.
"Mmm," Violet murmurs, stirring slightly. "What time is it?"
"Early," I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We don't have to get up yet."
She tilts her face up to look at me, and her sleepy smile makes my heart do that ridiculous skipping thing.
"Good morning," she says softly.
"Good morning, beautiful."
We lie there for a while, talking quietly and stealing kisses, and I can't remember ever feeling this content. It's like all the chaos and pressure of the last few weeks has faded into background noise, leaving just this—us, together, exactly where we're supposed to be.
When Violet finally gets up to shower, I reluctantly check my phone to see what I've been ignoring. Most of it is the usual—teammate group chats, social media notifications, a few interview requests that can wait until Monday. But there's one message that makes me sit up straighter.
It's from a number I don't recognize, sent at 11:47 PM last night: Mr. Harrison, this is David Teller from Sports Management Associates. I represent several NHL prospects and would like to discuss an urgent opportunity. Please call me at your earliest convenience. NHL prospects.
I stare at the message for a long moment, trying to process what it might mean. I'm a college Senior who's played exactly three games as a starter. The idea that an NHL agent would be interested in me seems impossible, but the message is sitting right there on my screen.
I'm still staring at my phone when Violet comes out of the bathroom, looking gorgeous and refreshed and completely unaware that my world might have just shifted again.
"Everything okay?" she asks, noticing my expression.
"Yeah," I say quickly, closing my phone. "Just team stuff."
It's not exactly a lie—this could be related to hockey—but it's not the whole truth either, and the small deception feels wrong immediately. We just established that communication and honesty are crucial to making this work, and here I am already keeping something from her.
But I don't even know what this message means yet. No point in worrying Violet about something that might be nothing.
"Want to grab breakfast?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Can't," Violet says regretfully. "I have to prep equipment for this afternoon's practice, and then I promised Sage I'd help her study for her abnormal psychology exam."
"Tonight then?"
"Definitely," she says, leaning down to kiss me softly. "I love you."
"I love you too," I reply, and saying it still feels like discovering something new and perfect.
After Violet leaves, I stare at my phone for another ten minutes before finally calling the number.
"David Teller," a professional voice answers immediately.
"This is Jason Harrison. You left me a message about an opportunity?"
"Jason! Thank you for calling back so quickly. I'll get straight to the point—I've been watching your performance over the last few weeks, and I'm impressed. Very impressed."
My heart starts beating faster. "Thank you, sir."
"I represent several players who've made successful transitions from college hockey to professional leagues, and I think you have that potential. But here's the thing—timing in hockey is everything, and there's a window opening right now that might not be available later."
"What kind of window?"
"The Charlotte Checkers—that's the AHL affiliate for the Florida Panthers—just had their backup goalie go down with a season-ending injury. They need someone immediately, and they're willing to offer a tryout contract to the right prospect."
AHL. American Hockey League. One step below the NHL, but still professional hockey. Still the dream I've been working toward since I was eight years old.
"A tryout contract," I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Exactly. It's not guaranteed—you'd have to prove yourself in camp and preseason—but Jason, opportunities like this don't come around often for college players. Especially not mid-season."
My mind is racing. Professional hockey. A real shot at making it to the next level. Everything I've dreamed about since I started playing.
"What would the timeline look like?" I ask.
"That's the tricky part," Teller says. "They need someone immediately. Like, next week immediately. You'd have to leave school, obviously, but—"
"Leave school?" I interrupt.
"Well, yes. This is a professional opportunity, Jason.
You can't maintain NCAA eligibility and play professionally.
But think about it—you're a senior, you've proven you can play at the college level, and now you have a chance to prove you belong in professional hockey. How many players get that opportunity?"
Leave school. Leave UW. Leave Violet.
The thought hits me like a physical blow, and suddenly this amazing opportunity feels complicated in ways I hadn't considered.
"I... I need to think about it," I say.
"Of course," Teller replies. "But Jason? Don't think too long. Charlotte needs an answer by Wednesday, and if you're not interested, I need to present other options to them."
Wednesday. Three days to decide between everything I've worked for my entire life and everything I've built here.
"I understand," I manage. "I'll get back to you."
After I hang up, I sit on my bed staring at nothing, trying to process what just happened.
Forty-eight hours ago, I was the third-string goalie wondering if I'd ever get a real shot.
Yesterday, I was completely happy with my life at UW, focused on Violet and our relationship and the possibility of starting for the rest of the season.
Now someone's offering me a path to professional hockey, and all I can think about is how it would mean leaving Violet behind.
My phone rings again. Keith.
"Dude, where are you?" he says without preamble. "Coach has been looking for you for twenty minutes."
"Looking for me? Why?"
"How should I know? He just said to find you and get you to his office ASAP."
I throw on clothes and head to the rink, my mind still spinning from the conversation with David Teller. When I get to Coach Higgins’ office, he's waiting with an expression I can't read.
"Sit down, Harrison," he says, closing the door behind me.
I sit, and Coach Higgins settles behind his desk with the kind of serious demeanor that suggests this isn't about practice schedules.
"I got an interesting call this morning," he begins. "From someone claiming to represent you professionally."
My stomach drops. "Coach, I can explain—"
"Can you? Because what this person told me is that you're considering leaving the team mid-season to pursue a professional opportunity."
"I haven't decided anything," I say quickly. "I literally just found out about it this morning."
"So it's true then. You're thinking about leaving."
There's disappointment in his voice that makes me feel like I'm twelve years old and getting lectured for breaking curfew.
"It's the AHL, Coach. It's a real shot at professional hockey."
"It's also abandoning your team in the middle of the most important season we've had in five years," Coach Higgins says bluntly. "You've played three games, Harrison. Three. And now you want to bail because someone dangled a maybe-opportunity in front of you?"
"That's not fair," I protest. "This isn't about bailing on the team. This is about my future."
"Your future," Coach Higgins repeats. "And what about your commitment to this program? To your teammates? To finishing what you started?"
I don't have a good answer for that, because he's right. I do have commitments here, responsibilities that go beyond my personal ambitions.
"Look," Coach Higgins continues, his voice softening slightly, "I understand the appeal. Professional hockey is the dream, and opportunities like this are rare. But Jason, you're not ready."
"What do you mean I'm not ready?"
"I mean you've been starting for two weeks. You've faced exactly three different offensive systems. You haven't been tested against the kind of competition you'd face in professional hockey."
"But if I don't take this chance—"
"There will be other chances," Coach Higgins interrupts. "Better chances, when you're actually ready for them. But if you leave now, if you abandon your team for a long-shot tryout, that says something about your character that scouts don't forget."
The conversation continues for another ten minutes, but I'm barely listening. All I can think about is the impossible choice I'm facing: the opportunity I've dreamed about my entire life, or the life I've built here with Violet and the team.
When I finally leave Coach Higgins’ office, I feel like my head is going to explode. I need to talk to someone, need to process this decision with someone who understands what it means. I need to talk to Violet.
But when I call her, it goes straight to voicemail. Same when I text. She's probably still helping Sage study, phone on silent like she always does when she's focusing on something important. So I do what I always do when I need to think—I go to the rink.
The arena is mostly empty except for the maintenance crew preparing for this afternoon's practice. I grab my gear and head to one of the empty nets, running through my usual routine of stretches and movement drills, trying to clear my head.
If I take this opportunity, I would be leaving Violet behind. And the longer I consider it, the more real that possibility becomes.
By the time I get back to my dorm, I'm more confused than when I started. This should be an easy decision—dream opportunity versus everything else. But everything else includes Violet, includes what we just found together, includes a future I hadn't really considered until yesterday.
My phone has three missed calls from Teller and a text: Jason, Charlotte is getting impatient. I need to know your decision by tonight if you want to keep this option open. Tonight. Not Wednesday. Tonight.
I stare at the message, feeling the walls closing in around me. This morning I woke up feeling like I had everything figured out. Now I have to choose between the dream I've chased my entire life and the woman I love.
And I have no idea how to make that choice without destroying something important.
The worst part? I'm starting to think that no matter what I decide, I'm going to lose something I can't afford to lose.
Maybe I am already mentally checked out, because if I wasn't, this decision would be obvious. Wouldn't it?