Elliott meant that he’s an accomplished football player, but Griffin wonders what else Griffin Hayes could be. Because now more than ever, the reality of the “football isn’t forever” mantra is knocking on his front door. It might be now, or it might be years from now, but Griffin desperately needs to find a purpose, a passion, beyond football.
Maybe this volunteering gig will be a decent start.
Chapter 44
Aria
Aria has a team meeting on Monday morning to discuss the schedule for her upcoming tour. Since her team emailed over the details in advance, it was mostly a review for her. Nevertheless, it served as a productive note on which to start the week. After a nutritious lunch of salmon, rice, and vegetables—thanks to Chef Bailey—Aria locks herself up in her studio, determined to make some progress.
Aria still hasn’t heard anything else from Griffin. He must be focusing on recovery as he’d so clearly stated. It sends a sharp pain through her chest every time the realization hits that he’s pushed her away, and every time she mentally walks down memory lane.
The first viral video of Griffin singing passionately to “Glass Heart” still makes her smile. When she first saw it, Aria dismissed it as cute but inconsequential. Even when theystarted spending PR time together, Aria kept it categorized as “cute but inconsequential.” Maybe she changed—maybe Griffin helped her change—but back then she didn’t really consider the prospect of a real connection.
She’d been too scared, her walls too firmly planted, to consider it.
Then there was the chivalry at the animal gala, but really it was more than that. It was consideration. Griffin knew as well as Aria did that she could’ve easily called someone from her team. She wasn’t without options. But Griffin offered a ride, inconvenienced himself, and in the process they had some great conversation. Aria thinks of all of the small moments they shared, swapping thoughts and stories, sharing coffee and snacks, laughing over tiny things, learning each other. In fact, aside from Bailey, Griffin might be the person who knows her best.
Aria remembers them together in this space, and her heart flutters. She wills herself not to go there, but she can’t help it. She lets her mind go to the kiss. Her gaze wanders to the sliding doors. In some ways it’s hard to fathom that it occurred on that little patio outside, the one that now sits bare and lonely, cluttered with long-fallen leaves.
Aria squeezes her eyes shut tight. How could she let it slip through her fingers? Inside she simmers with frustration that she didn’t clue in to what she had before her sooner.
Like she’s done reliably for years, Aria goes to the one place she can spill all of her thoughts when it feels too much: her writing. She settles into her writing spot, tucking the notebook in her lap, grabs her pen, and moves her hand feverishly across the page.
It doesn’t come all at once, but in words, concepts, then eventually lyrics. She writes, crosses out, draws arrows for inserts and rearrangements. Aria pours all of her feelings, her self-doubt, her hopes into the words. She tells herself no one has to see it if it’s awful. For now it’s only her and the page. And in that blessed space, it comes together.
Until you came along,
I was living in slow motion.
Playing pop star like they wanted,
For them and their devotion.
But in the dark of night,
I tossed and turned, all wrong.
It started to make sense,
Only as you came along.
In trying to be perfect,
All I did was make me small.
You told me, more than once,
Go ahead and give your all.
Things started to go right,
Me letting go and staying true.
But then you left me in the dark,
And now I know something new.
It wasn’t just the music,
