“We’re grateful for anything. You bring more Wardens, and the guys might not even care about cake.”
Griffin laughs—the first time he’s done so since he was at the high school earlier this week. “I’m not about to show up without cake, even if the entire team was behind me. Let me get to work, and I’ll get back to you with some plans.”
“Thank you,” Coach Pete says. “This will be a memory that stays with the players for their entire lives, I just know it.”
After the call ends, Griffin settles back on the couch. Eventually he flips the television back on to the Wardens game. The commentators are chattering after Elliott just caught a touchdown pass.
“The team is really stepping up in the absence of tight end Griffin Hayes.”
“Has there been any news on his recovery?”
“Ah well, you know that knee was blown out several years ago, and the rate of success in a second comeback is slim. Of course, we’re all hopeful to see Griffin Hayes back out on the field, but will he ever be back to pro-league condition? I’m not convinced.”
“Griffin’s been a powerhouse for a long time; maybe it’s a natural end to a vibrant career.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that! All the messaging from the team and his personal channels is that he’s focused on making a comeback and resuming his position with the Wardens.”
Griffin’s heart hammers in his chest, a sickness swelling inside him, as if he’d just overheard someone gossiping about him. The commentators are there for the fans at home, but of course they’re aware that everything they say gets back to the players, team, and staff. It’s a business, not a social club.
It’s also not like Griffin hasn’t been aware of this reality—that this injury could mean the end of his career.
But hearing it broadcast for the entire world over the film of his team killing it on the field without him feels like the sun of his world being eclipsed.
He cuts the television off, curls up on the couch, and pullsthe blanket over his head. In the darkness, he brings his phone screen to life and deletes his sports networks apps, the ones that push scores and professional league news. The relief that follows lets him pull in a deep breath, so he takes it a step further and deletes the social media apps where career-end speculation will undoubtedly be circulated too.
Griffin promises himself that all he’ll focus on is the event for the South Shore football players. If he thinks about pro football or the Wardens for much longer, he might not ever come back.
And when he does open social media again, it’ll probably be to check in on Aria, to see what magic she’s been up to.
Despite everything he’s dealing with, he misses her terribly.
Chapter 46
Aria
Acall from Aria’s agent first thing Monday morning is never a good sign. Aria knows that means people have been talking over the weekend, which also means that it’s about a topic whose importance has been elevated to critical. She only needs to watch the call come in on her phone to know this is about the new record.
“Lay it on me,” Aria says.
Aria is out walking the trails at a park, Bailey at her side and her ball cap pulled low over her face. Occasionally she’ll get recognized, but more often than not, the power walkers with whom she shares the trails have their earbuds in place, their arms pumping, and their eyes set on finishing their laps.
“Don’t you know I just about ate Gerald for breakfast with the way I just chewed him out,” Monroe says.
Aria laughs, her breath pouring out into the cold air in a white cloud.
“I don’t know who he thinks he is sending me demanding emails on a Sunday morning, but I set him straight.”
“He’s following up on the album already? It hasn’t even been two weeks.”
Monroe sighs. “I totally agree. But technically, the contract stipulated that it should be delivered today.”
“Since when have my deadlines ever actually been deadlines?”
In the past, Aria churned out songs with ease, and representatives from the label reviewed them as the initial versions were complete. They loved all of them, so even when she went over her formal deadline to wrap up the last few songs—the ones that gave her the hardest time but often ended up being her greatest hits—no one batted an eye. In fact, the lack of true deadlines was something they’ve all previously joked about.
“You just have to start feeding them stuff. Gerald’s obviously getting nervous that you’re blocked somehow, that you’re not going to be able to deliver.”
Aria grunts. “How rude.”
