Chapter 26 Aria #2
Griffin’s eyes land on Aria like they have a weight behind them, and she can’t look away.
She gulps hard, pulls in a breath, and yanks her gaze from his.
“It’s showing up for someone else, it’s sticking around, faults and all.
It’s the simple stuff of noticing when she might need a hand up or remembering the work issue that’s been bothering her. ”
“Why can’t you write that? What if you blended the two? You’re a storyteller, so you can weave them together.”
Aria thinks about the rest of the experiences she herself is wading through right now: the terrifying feeling of falling for someone, the uncertainty of letting feelings grow, the temptation to shut down and deny, the ease of a life with high walls around it.
“It’s worth a shot,” Aria says.
She flips open the notebook and scribbles down some ideas, feeling a lightness in her chest, a freshness in her mind, a feeling deliciously like inspiration. She glances over at Griffin.
“I might regret telling you this, but trying something different—even if I’m spinning it to look like the same—is terrifying.”
He wanders over and takes a seat at the far end of the couch. “The best things lie outside of your comfort zone—that’s what my peewee coach told me, and apparently I took it to heart.”
Aria tilts her head sideways. “Isn’t football 100 percent your safe zone?”
Griffin massages his chin, his brow dropping seriously.
“Yes and no. I told you that my family is traditionally all medical professionals, but they’re also all overachievers.
If someone is a nurse, they’re the best nurse on the unit, or if they’re a doctor, they’re practicing and doing research.
They’re always unit leads. All of them graduated with advanced degrees, top of their classes.
I guess I latched onto football because it was something I could do.
School was all right for me, but I wasn’t a science wiz like the rest of them.
Mostly I got accolades for athletics. My parents were proud—even if they stood out like a sore thumb at the games.
Being excellent at something—that for me turned out to be football—was the only way I could prove that I belonged. ”
Aria’s heart squeezes for him. It would be easy to assume that this big, burly football player is a person so physically powerful that he could never suffer like regular people, but Griffin makes it quite clear otherwise. Aria feels a pull to go to him and take him in her arms.
Instead, she reaches out and runs the tips of her fingers down his back. Maybe she’s imagining it, but it feels like he leans in.
“Oh, Griff. I’m sorry. You know there’s no way anyone wouldn’t want you in their family. You’re just as golden as the newscasters promise. Even more when someone gets to know the full you.”
Griffin nods. “I’m still trying to work out who that is—the full me. But I did promise to get working on it.”
Aria smiles at him. “And while we’re trading war stories, I’ll admit that I started writing music and performing to escape feeling invisible in my small-town life.
I loved my family and my town, but everyone there was fine with staying small and quiet.
It felt suffocating to me, and I just had to bust out.
Sometimes I worry that my parents will think I’m not grateful for them raising me or that I don’t respect their way of life, but I do everything to make sure they know that’s not true.
I was just born to feel the bright lights of a stage.
Whether it’s a dive bar or a sold-out arena, it’s simply something I cannot live without. ”
“You were born for this stuff,” Griffin says. “It’s obvious.”
It’s a concept that’s been part of the narrative of her life for so long that Aria had almost forgotten the truth in it. She really is born for this work, and she owes it to herself and her fans to put her all into it.
“I think you’re right about the music. I have to try to do it my way.”
Griffin remains quiet. Aria clicks into her focused mode, and it’s almost as if he melts into the background.
She scribbles lyrics, then strums on the guitar.
Over at the piano, Aria moves along the keys, knitting together chords that sound like her—but new.
With every inch of progress, Aria’s optimism lifts.
She loses herself in the music, forgetting all inhibition.
When she glances over at Griffin, he’s mesmerized just like he was at that very first concert. It’s the first time Aria’s ever allowed someone so close to her work before. Well, aside from Bailey.
Griffin doesn’t say a word and only rests back into the sofa like he’s planning to stick around.
After an hour or so, Aria’s shoulders begin to ache, and her throat grows dry. She gets up from behind the mixing tables and bends to look through the mini fridge.
“I think I have the basis for three or four songs. I like the way they’re sort of connected by the chord progression similarity but totally distinct with the beats I played around with.”
Aria pops upright, cracks the can of sparkling water, and drinks. In the pause, she falters. “Sorry! Did you want something? I have a tendency to just get lost in my own world when I really get into it. Hence why I don’t usually have visitors.”
“I count myself lucky to have the front-row seat. And I’m good on drinks.”
Aria drinks again, then props a hand on her hip. “What did you think of what you heard?”
“I thought it was cool. It’s definitely recognizable as your style, but it’s got a fresh twist. I think your people will love it.”
“Thanks.” For the first time in weeks, Aria feels sincerely confident about the future, about the prospect of making this next album something she’s proud to stand beside. “It means a lot coming from my ‘number one fan.’”
“Hey! No need for the air quotes. I wear the title as a badge of honor.”
Aria feels her cheeks heat, then the warmth spreads across her, and suddenly she’s desperate for fresh air. “I’m going to get a breather.”
She points toward the slider door and walks over to pull it open and step out onto the small patio outside. Griffin follows behind her into the cool fall air.
When Aria turns back to look at him, despite the crispness in the air, the warmth he inspired still lingers, like the outside elements have no effect.