A sudden ache passes through her chest as the thought lands; inevitably this PR deal between the two of them will come to an end. She pushes it away. At this rate, maybe the two of them could stay friends. But what are the chances that Griffin would continue to find time for her in his busy schedule?
The music cuts on, and Griffin dances in front of the stage, swaying and bobbing his head along to the beat. He mouths the lyrics like any true fan and takes a healthy slug of the drink. Aria is so mesmerized she almost misses the catch when he tosses the drink her way, perfectly aimed at her hands.
She snags the bottle, beams at it, then turns back to the mic and announces, “It’s time to level up!”
The producer turns to the camera operator. “We get it?”
He smiles at the playback screen. “Oh yeah! You guys are naturals.”
“All right then,” the producer announces. “Aria, Griffin, thank you. You’re free to go! Crew, let’s break down and load up ASAP. We’re pushing up on the end of our time.”
Aria and Griffin wander off to the side of the field, and almost instantaneously the small stage is broken into pieces and wheeled out, the cameras and sound booms packed into theirtravel cases, the crew scurrying quickly until they all disappear like a parade of ants carrying their spoils.
Even Kelsey disappears without a goodbye.
Aria walks out into the middle of the field, stretches out her arms, and looks up to the domed ceiling. “Wild to think you play out here every weekend—or many—you know what I mean.”
Griffin joins her on the field. “I could say the same for you and all of your venues.”
Aria sits and lies down on the turf. Griffin does the same.
“Usually this is never the view I’m going for on the field, but I have to say, taking a load off right now feels great.”
Aria, lying beside him, laughs. “For today, it’s a great view.”
Griffin turns his head to look at her. “Hey. I know this might be overstepping. I’m definitely not an expert, but I was thinking about your music.”
“I know I said you have more talents than just football, but I can’t bring you on my songwriting team.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. No, I was thinking about the pickle you’re in. About how you want to dig deeper, be more vulnerable in your music... I think you should do it.”
Aria keeps her eyes trained on the domed ceiling high above. If only he knew how impossible that is—at least at this juncture.
“Unfortunately, I have a contract for the other stuff.”
“But you could blend it. The other parts of you are not separate from that music; they’re just a deeper level of it. You’re powerful and badass, but you also have feelings and all of the other tender parts that make us human.”
Aria has considered this herself, and she doesn’t necessarilydisagree. But it’s a risk trying to push this. There’s a chance she might be able to take some of the risks she’s been yearning for and still meet the brief of the album the studio requires, but what if the fans hate it? What if she lets people down?
Not to mention the fact that the record label will hold her to her contract, and if she doesn’t meet their requirements, there will be delays until she creates another album. There is nothing sadder than an artist fading into irrelevance because she isn’t making music.
“I don’t hate the idea. I’ve thought about it.”
“Aria, if anyone can make this work, it’s you. You deserve to do the work you love.”
Aria feels a flutter in her middle, and she spreads her hands out, palms down on the turf, reminding herself to keep her feet on the ground. Under this sprawling dome, row upon row of seats soaring to the heights surrounding her, Aria feels small. Especially so when she admits, “I’m afraid too.”
“Yeah?”
The single syllable from Griffin floods Aria with comfort.
“What if I try it and it doesn’t work? What will everyone say? I’ll be a failure. Everything I worked for forgotten.”
“And what if you don’t try?”
Griffin doesn’t know that he is asking the very question that keeps her wrestling with the possibility of the endeavor. She hasn’t admitted it to anyone. Not even Bailey. But something about lying here on this massive field, two small people, makes the truth feel easy to admit.
“I’m afraid if I don’t try, what I keep holding on to won’t matter anymore either.”
