Aria smiles, but inside she fumes. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” doesn’t exactly inspire artistic expression. If she’d followed this logic, Aria would’ve stuck to the bar stage route as soon as she started making decent money. That could’ve worked for a long while. It afforded her a nice living, a fun lifestyle. But if she’d never pushed to get into a true recording studio, she would have missed out on a great majority of the opportunities she’s been afforded.
“Message received. I will do my best to please—as always.” Aria tacks on a winning smile.
“All right, well, I think that’s everything, right?” Monroe says.
Gerald nods curtly, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of assurance given. “Please keep us updated, Aria.” His words almost sigh in the manner they escape him, like they’ve soaked up his disappointment.
Aria nods. “Yup! Thanks, everyone. Have a great day.”
She hits the Exit button rapidly and slams shut the laptop.
How could Gerald not like that clip? He’s not a “creative,” but he should be able to see the appeal in a fresh take. Even purely from a business perspective, opening a new Aria Wilder thread could mean a whole spool’s worth of potential profits.
It’s not that Aria even has a problem with her old music. Shestill loves it and stands proudly by it. But it was her style in her early twenties, and she kept with it for almost a decade. Now, coming up on thirty, it doesn’t feel authentic anymore. Aria isn’t the same woman she was at twenty-one or twenty-two years old. And she shouldn’t be. Not if she’s growing and learning and evolving.
If Worldwide keeps her locked within that box she built years ago, Aria fears she’ll end up looking like that forty-year-old mom who tries to wear the same fashions as her daughter. Like someone who is still chasing their high school peak.
Aria pushes the laptop aside and sits down at the piano. She plays the basic melodies of her original hits, and it feels like visiting an old friend. Could she find a second life in them? Aria plays around with them, but quickly she hits a wall. She throws her head back and a groan escapes her.
Maybe she simply isn’t cut out for this industry anymore. Not if they can’t support her growth. Maybe she’s just not as talented as people think she is if she can’t make this work.
Another album, the same but with some differences should be an easy order.
If her insides didn’t scream every time she tried to make it happen.
Aria gets up from the piano and paces the studio. Her walls lined in charts, awards, and accolades feel like prying eyes as they watch her pace in her discomfort. She’ll go track down Bailey soon for a heart-to-heart. Even when there’s no easy solution, Bailey always makes things feel better. But Aria’s mind also goes to Griffin.
The feeling of making music with him here was so energizing, like the studio had been filled to the brim with thepossibility he poured in. His belief in her was an engine that hummed inside her as she worked. Aria drops back onto the piano bench and runs through the main melody of the song she started working on with Griffin.
It’s like slipping into her own skin, like finally being honest about who she is, the woman she’s become over the past eight years of stardom. Aside from Bailey, there’s really no one else in Aria’s life who makes her feel more like herself. Griffin never makes demands of her like the ones she just got on the video call; he accepts her as is and encourages her to lean into that.
Aria felt like she got another glimpse of Griffin’s shine when they were texting on Sunday, but then he just sort ofghostedher. It wasn’t a big deal, just a clarification message about doing a post together, and maybe there was some question over whether he needed to respond or not. Maybe he assumed it’d go through Mike? But Aria noticed the emptiness that arose, and then stuck around, in the wake of his silence.
Before the injury, he would have replied, even sent extra messages, marked it with a response emoji if nothing else.
Aria stopped by Griffin’s place unannounced yesterday, hoping to talk him into going shopping at the home goods store with her, but she was unable to convince him. Even when she mentioned the mobility scooter, he wasn’t sold.
He put on a smile for her.“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Come on. We can even look for some throw pillows for you! No respectable adult haszerothrow pillows.”
“Maybe another time. I have PT in a little while.”
Aria suspected from the way he said it that Griffin might have been stretching the truth about his schedule conflict, andshe couldn’t help but wonder if pre-injury Griffin would have done the same.
Surely their partnering on something soon will bring them closer together. Forced fun could be a solution.
In the meantime, it’s difficult to ignore the way life feels far less satisfying without Griffin Hayes tucked close by her side.
Chapter 39
Griffin
When Griffin gets to the stadium, the team is already practicing full out after their loss last Sunday. Thursdays are typically a heavy practice day, but they can get especially intense on the heels of a loss. The Wardens will play the DC Generals away on Sunday, and they’re practicing as if preparing for war. Griffin pauses at the edge of the field, and if desire alone could make magical things happen, his knee would instantly heal and he’d run out there and tag in.
Despite Griffin being thirty-two years old, not much about his passion for the game has changed since he was a peewee and the smallest-sized jersey swamped his frame.
Griffin can only watch what he’s missing out on for so long before he makes his way, atop his crutches, to the medical block. Tomorrow is surgery day to take the first steps in repairing his knee, and he has a consultation with the team doctor to discuss the recovery plan. Griffin hopes they onlytalk about the immediate future—the part where his job is to get the surgery and wait out the worst of the recovery. Not the part where they discuss the viability of his return to practice or game play.
