Hi Aria,
How is the new album coming? Please let us know if you need support. Even though you’ve always declined, we can always bring in songwriters or other musicians to support creating your vision. We understand you’re busy with a myriad of commitments. Please send over some samples soon so we can decide on a title to announce, as well as develop concepts for marketing and packaging.
Respectfully,
Gerald Smith
Worldwide Records
Never before has Aria experienced what feels like inner drought. Like everything she writes is an aspiring musician’s very first attempt at music making.
She keeps her head down until dinner, working as diligently as she can despite the underwhelming output.
Aria does her best to dismiss the thoughts that float into her head unannounced, the ones of Griffin, the ones that worry that things are changing too much between them.
Chapter 37
Griffin
Griffin watches the game from the bench on Sunday and does his best to smile for the camera. The fans love to see an injured player showing up to cheer on his team, and Griffin also wasn’t about to sit at home and stew on his bad fortune when his teammates could use another loud voice behind them. The Wardens lose 28–7 to the Miami Pelicans.
“What sort of mascot is a pelican anyway?” Elliott spits as he peels off his jersey in the locker room.
Griffin sits on the bench in his Wardens sweats, his crutches balanced against the seat. “A lame one, that’s for sure.”
Elliott growls. He lowers his voice. “We need you on that field, man. It’s like an engine without any oil when you’re not out there.”
“You guys will find the groove. We always do when we lose someone. And I’m here—in support.”
Elliott drops down beside him. “So, what’s the update?”
Griffin sighs. “Surgery. Maybe next week if it looks good enough. Then I’ll get into PT and recovery. I’ll tell you, the pain relief injections are saving my life.”
“I got them in my shoulder last year. When will you be back?”
Griffin appreciates Elliott’s positivity. It’s infectious even if it threatens to be toxic. Injured professional athletes have a habit of assuming one another to “be making a good comeback” whether it’s true or not.
“We’re sort of operating in the ‘if’ for now.” Griffin hasn’t admitted this to anyone else yet. “But it’s not public knowledge, so don’t spread it. Or mention it to the press.”
Elliott lets out a whistle. “They sure are circling like vultures.”
“I’m pretty sure they all want to crack a story that doesn’t exist. At least not yet. Or dramatically announce that I’m dead or something,” Griffin says.
“Mm-hmm. And what about the rest?” Elliott eyes Griffin from the side with a half smile.
“I’m missing something,” Griffin says.
“Socials. Not themedia-media. Where are you and Aria? The people are starting to ask.”
Griffin lets out a “hmm.”
Elliott recounts the comments he’s seen in a high-pitched voice:
“Why isn’t Aria at his side?”
“Why aren’t they taking advantage of this for more bestie time?”
“Maybe he could come on the new album tour if his season is cut short? Omg, can you imagine?”
