Chapter 3 Griffin
Griffin
The day after the concert, Griffin and Elliott are the last ones in the locker room after practice.
Oftentimes they stay late to get in some more reps or additional recovery activities.
Today Griffin wanted to hit the ice bath, and Elliott decided to stay too.
Afterward in the locker room, they change clothes and pack their bags.
“Oh, shoot.” Elliott pats around his pockets, then his bag. “I think I left my phone in the weight room. Be right back.”
Griffin nods as he drops onto the bench seat and pulls out his own phone that he’s left unchecked since before practice. It’s one of many small rituals he’s built into his life to protect his dedication to football. When the phone is stowed away, his focus is entirely on his work.
When the screen lights up, Griffin is surprised at the thousands of social media notifications that’ve come in—far more than usual.
“Ah,” Griffin whispers to himself as it dawns on him.
The Aria Wilder concert.
Of course he played along with the viral meme moment.
It was all done in good fun, and almost all the comments were good-natured.
As a professional athlete, he gets a significant amount of attention online already—or at least what he thought was a significant amount—but these responses to the concert clip are on another level. An Aria Wilder level.
He opens his email, and there is a message from his agent.
Griff—
Hey, man. All this stuff with Aria Wilder is fire for your PR spin.
You see the response from Aria about making an appearance at the next show?
We really think you should go. This is a new angle for you outside of the usual sports stuff.
You know the athletes who do best in the long run diversify. Football can’t be forever.
Call me when you get this.
Mike
Griffin darkens the screen and turns it face down in his lap.
He bites his lip. Even if Mike thinks this is a good idea, Griffin isn’t quite convinced.
He’s comfortable with postgame interviews, the special events the team volunteers the players for, signing for fans after the game.
But a concert with a hugely talented singer?
That’s miles out of his comfort zone. He can’t wrap his head around what good it would actually do for his career either.
Hanging out with Aria Wilder, as adorable as she is, won’t lead the Wardens to the Super Bowl, and he’s not anywhere close to aging out of the league yet.
Elliott walks in, his phone held out in front of him. “Dude! You’re mega-viral! And Aria Wilder—”
“Wants me to come to the concert tomorrow,” Griffin says with a glum look.
“Are you for real?” Elliott throws his hands out to the sides incredulously. “The world’s biggest pop star is sending an invite your way, and you’re bummed about it?”
“Since when have I ever been into these things?”
Griffin shouldn’t have to say more. Elliott said almost these exact words when the team was invited to the holiday party of a reality television personality turned online influencer and Griffin sent his regrets.
The same conversation was had when they were invited to a movie premiere.
This sort of spotlight—outside of his comfort zone on the field and at the end of the postgame camera lens—isn’t his thing.
“But Aria Wilder is your celebrity crush.” Elliott drops his hands to his sides and narrows his eyes.
“What? How do you know that?” Griffin’s eyes dart around.
“Come on, man. We’ve been buddies for a while now.
You’re not a ‘night on the town’ sort of guy, but you came third wheel with me and Cassandra to the concert.
You wanted close seats so—and I quote—you could ‘really see the contours of her face.’ I’m not a rocket scientist, but I’m also not a total idiot. ”
Griffin sighs. “You got me there.”
“So, what do you have to lose by going tomorrow?”
“Distraction from the season. Being off in the game the next day.”
“Those sound like excuses to me.”
“Mike wants me to do it.” Griffin’s leg bobs up and down nervously. “And I guess it’ll just be a onetime thing. The concert itself was incredible, so I’ll get to enjoy that again. Then it’ll be all said and done.”
Griffin gets to his feet, and Elliott slaps him on the back. Both men grab their gym bags and head for the exit.
“You’re right, man. Gotta take the opportunities when they float by. Who knows when you’ll get another special invite from a pop star,” Elliott says.
Likely never if Griffin is taking history into account.
This is the first and only time he’s crossed into other spotlights.
Other players—especially the ones who have famous girlfriends—flit in and out of other highflier circles.
Take Elliott, for example—he routinely attends New York Fashion Week and has made enough contacts that designers dress him for events.
Even the sound of that makes Griffin want to run for the hills, but a night spent watching the world’s most enchanting pop star from the wings, well out of sight? That he can manage.
By the next evening, when Griffin gets to the backstage entrance at the venue, he’s glad he accepted Aria’s invite to the concert.
He was excited for the first show, but this experience is like a VIP version of the last one.
The fan in him is buzzing over the experience, the insights.
Backstage he sees all the nuts and bolts of the world-class production that unfurls onstage.
He’s observer of the frantic backstage managers barking into their headsets, hair and makeup artists chasing after performers with brushes and sprays.
The amount of tech professionals in attendance to make sure the right smoke machine and levitating platform go off at the right time—and don’t maim any performer—seems comparable to the crew assembled for the moon landing.
In many ways, the inner workings of this production feel akin to putting a human on another planet.
Eventually Griffin is escorted to a nook in the wings that affords him a decent view—though admittedly lower quality than he had the other night. Not that he would complain after getting the backstage pass. But tonight he won’t be able to see a single contour of Aria’s face.
The music sounds different in the wings too.
The speakers are set up for the people out in the audience, but Griffin watches happily, swaying a little, humming along, cautiously enjoying the music, while simultaneously keeping an eye peeled for a camera-toting member of the public ready to film him again and keep this circus going.
Griffin smiles to himself as he hears the opening notes to “Glass Heart.” He’s starting to feel grateful for this silly social media moment. Elliott was right that he might as well enjoy the fun chances that swim by him in life. They’re once in a lifetime.
But just as Griffin is making his peace with his moment in Aria’s orbit, he hears his name in the monologue Aria speaks to the crowd.
“You guys know I invited the famous Griffin Hayes tonight, right? Anyone see that online?”
The crowd goes wild. Griffin’s cheeks turn hot pink.
“He might be a beast on the field, but he’s a softie at heart, right?”
Lots of female cheers bubble up.
“Well, he’s here tonight, and as a thanks, I’d love to invite him onstage! Griffin? Come on out!”
Suddenly, a stage manager, a more junior one who seems less harried, arrives at Griffin’s side and clips a mic to his shirt, then hands him the electronic dock that goes with it. “You can slip that in your pocket then head out. Just a quick wave and hello!”
Griffin does as he’s told, gulps audibly, then steps hesitantly out onto the stage.
A telltale heat creeps up his neck, and he prays his blushing is drowned out by the stage lights.
Aria skips up to meet him, her golden curls bouncing in the stage lights.
The tassels on her cowgirl boots sparkle in the stage lights.
Despite the fear welling in Griffin, he can’t miss the fact that she looks sort of angelic.
“Well, if it isn’t Griffin Hayes! Everyone, let’s give him a warm welcome.”
The crowd cheers.
She lingers before him, her lips parting gently into a playful grin that feels as if it’s entirely for him. Griffin’s heart picks up, his gaze glued to her. In the moment before she lifts the mic, she winks and it practically stops his heart.
Aria turns to the crowd and talks with miraculous ease. “I didn’t have a chance to meet Griffin before the show, but I’ve been looking forward to it ever since I saw the video. So, what’s the final verdict? Are you my number one fan?”
She reaches out a hand to bridge the gap between them and dances her fingertips down his shoulder. A shiver runs down his arm, and Aria’s glow eclipses the crowd behind her.
Griffin holds her stare, and his smile grows.
After a beat, he looks away and laughs, and it surprises him when he hears it broadcast across the venue.
“Guilty as charged.” He grips his chin, massaging it bashfully as he sneaks another close-up look at her.
“And thank you all for having me. You can trust me when I say backstage is not for the faint of heart.”
Aria throws her head back and laughs, and her fans join her. Griffin cannot take his eyes from her; she’s magnetic.
“Well, well, you should take a spin in my hair and makeup chair, Mr. Hayes.”
Honestly, in the middle of this moment that feels very much like being under a spell, he might be convinced.
Eventually he finds his wherewithal. “Only if you play Sunday’s game against the Panthers.”
Aria puts a finger to her cheek and taps playfully as if she’s mulling it over. “No thanks! I’ll keep the sparkles and the blisters from these killer boots.”
The crowd goes wild.
“You do it well, so I can’t imagine you wanting to change course.”
Aria fans herself playfully. “Well, thank you, I might just have to invite you to every concert to keep my spirits high.”
Griffin extends an arm to acknowledge the crowd, and when Aria slips under it and pulls him into an embrace, he’s covered in warmth.
She looks up and holds his eye, and Griffin’s breath catches.
Stage fright, nerves of being called out unexpectedly, most likely.
Definitely not the effects of this enchanting woman he’s so lucky to have become entwined with.
Aria slips away from his side and turns back to her fans.
Griffin feels the heat of his face as his pulse picks up, and he seizes the moment to bow out.
“Thank you so much, Aria. And all of you.” He waves to the crowd, then turns and ducks back into the wings.
He unclips the mic and hands it off to the waiting stagehand as quickly as he can manage. One and done, Griffin tells himself. And it wasn’t all that bad—or it won’t be once his flaming red cheeks cool off.