Chapter 39 Griffin
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 only talk 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.
The conference room is past the therapy rooms and the exam tables, past the specialized treatment machines that he is entirely acquainted with.
Inside the meeting room, Griffin finds a spot at the conference table, and soon he’s joined by the team doctor, Dr. Young, a physical therapist, someone from sports medicine, and the Wardens’ rehab coordinator, Karileigh, who makes sure every player has all the necessary services to recover expeditiously.
Dr. Young doesn’t say anything that Griffin hasn’t already heard. “The surgeon’s going to do his very best to fix you up as good as possible with what he’s got in there. Plenty of scar tissue makes the job trickier.”
“Yes, sir. I understand,” Griffin says.
“He might need to graft in some new tissue, but in terms of you getting back to top shape, we’d really prefer to focus on preserving as much as we can first.”
“Is there a chance I’ll need a second surgery?”
Dr. Young pulls in a concerted breath, cups his chin, and pauses. “I’m never going to BS you, son. This isn’t the ideal scenario for having a knee injury, and the truth of the matter is that we won’t know how things will or won’t go until we just do the thing.”
“That makes sense.”
Griffin says these words about the practical components, but none of this really makes sense.
Not in the sense that he did everything he was supposed to do to keep himself in the best shape.
Not in the sense that he’s worked his whole life for this career.
Not in the sense that, somewhere along the line, he let the other parts of himself go, and he let this sport consume him.
He’s grateful when Karileigh clears her throat and begins discussing the logistics of his recovery. Griffin needs to know the details, and he refocuses intently. Karileigh is of small stature and so blonde that her hair is almost white. Her plan is meticulous, and she details it for the group.
“Postsurgery you will be transported directly to Kensington Suites, a luxury rehabilitation facility that will oversee the correct administration of pain medication and wound care, as well as support services such as food, hygiene, and mobility assistance. Your length of stay will be determined by the physician in residence, who will monitor your recovery. As soon as you’re able, physical therapy will begin working with you to regain mobility in the knee and aid the appropriate healing.
Please find a packing list in your email inbox.
Otherwise the facility is prepared to provide necessary items as requested.
We have thought of everything to maximize your potential for the greatest recovery. Only the best for our Wardens players!”
The plan is fabulous, and as promised, it doesn’t miss a thing when it comes to surgery and recovery.
Griffin itches with an impulse to get to his feet and run to the practice field to join his teammates.
He might not have a choice, but he wishes he could will the whole thing away.
Go back to football. The thing that makes him Griffin Hayes.
Hospitals, doctors, and rehab aren’t supposed to be part of his world the way they are right now.
He wasn’t made for this.
“Thank you for putting together such a comprehensive plan. I will be following all of the orders to make my recovery as speedy as possible.”
“We’d expect nothing less from our golden Warden,” Coach says from the doorway where he’s barged in. “I snuck out for a minute to come check on my favorite tight end.”
Griffin gets to his feet, and the coach pulls him under his arm roughly.
“Don’t tell Lopez that or you might be down another tight end on Sunday.”
Everyone in the meeting room laughs.
“Anything else before I run?” Dr. Young glances at his watch.
“That’s all, I think. Karileigh?” Griffin says, and Karileigh nods in agreement.
“Well, in that case, best of luck tomorrow,” Dr. Young says. “We’re rooting for you.”
“And I’ll be rooting for the Wardens in DC,” Griffin says.
Karileigh slips out of the meeting room with a quick goodbye.
Coach follows closely behind as he rushes back to practice after sharing his well-wishes, and Griffin is left alone in the Wardens’ conference room.
The walls are lined in memorabilia, framed jerseys of legendary players, posters of past Super Bowl appearances, top season awards.
Griffin has never questioned his belonging in this organization.
He always knew that between his work ethic and his talent, he could live up to the demands of a team of the Wardens’ stature.
The throbbing in his knee reminds him how much has changed.
Will he ever get back here? If he does, will he become a drain on the team?
The old-timer no one wants to let go despite his glory days being in the rearview?
There are no guarantees either way. The only thing of which Griffin can be certain is that his recovery will be difficult and long, and he has to take it one step at a time.
The only other option is to quit. And a quitter—injured or not—is one thing he’ll never let himself be.
The ringing phone in his pocket pulls his mind from its musing, and Griffin hits the screen to accept Mike’s call on speaker.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” Griffin says.
“How you holding up?” Mike asks in response.
Griffin appreciates the consideration, but in equal measure, he wishes everyone—himself included—could forget about his injury for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Ask me tomorrow post-op.” Griffin laughs. “No, I’m tired of talking about that. To what do I owe the pleasure of a call?”
“You’ve got a lot going on, so you probably haven’t seen the state of the internet.”
“Sounds like I definitely haven’t.”
“Well, there were rumblings last week about why Aria and you haven’t been spotted hanging out now that you’re temporarily out of commission.”
“Ah, I see.”
“People are saying it was all a publicity stunt and that all of it is ‘too convenient’ the way it worked out.”
A searing guilt pierces his middle. A better friend would’ve already done some social media together or something. Heck, if he’d just gone and picked out some throw pillows and snapped a few pictures, that would’ve more than sufficed. Instead, he’s let his own issues eclipse everything.
“Aria’s cool as a cucumber as per usual, but she definitely wants to do damage control,” Mike says.
Griffin’s chest grows tight, and when he pulls in a breath, it feels trapped inside him. His face flushes. How could he be so selfish? Maybe it’s further proof that he shouldn’t be in Aria’s life right now. If he can’t even stop to consider her feelings amid all his self-pity.
“I’ll do whatever. You know, considering the bum knee. Ballroom dancing might be out.”
Mike laughs. “Thanks. We’re thinking socials for right now. Kelsey from Aria’s team is going to get some mock-up stuff put together, and then I’ll shoot it over with directions.”
“Easy.”
“Yup! Do you have any personal pictures the two of you snapped together? I guess maybe not, but—”
“I do actually.”
At the pet adoption, he and Aria took selfies with the adoptable pets as part of the appearance. The event organizer suggested they do it so fans could get pictures of them being friends, but nothing about it was an act.
In fact, Griffin has looked at the pictures more often than he thought he would since he got hurt.
“Nice! Send them over? We could doctor some stuff up, but you know fans are smarter than that. They can sniff out a fake image in a heartbeat, and then I fear we’d be in worse shape than where we’re starting.”
“Sure thing.”
They end the call, and Griffin doesn’t linger, instead lugging himself on crutches back to his vehicle.
The only silver lining to his injury is that it’s his left knee, so he can still drive.
He pauses in the driver’s seat and does a quick internet search for himself with Aria Wilder.
There’s an abundance of posts, hot takes, and talking-head videos to choose from, but all suggest the same thing: Aria Wilder and Griffin Hayes are fakes who played up their relationship as something it wasn’t to take advantage of the fans.
Griffin runs a hand through his hair.
He’s just like the rest of the people who claimed to be Aria’s friends if he’s landing her in hot water online like this.
He cranks the engine, puts the car in gear, and backs out of his spot. He weaves through the underground parking garage, and when he comes out into the light he’s certain: Aria is better off without him.
She deserves better than the broken, self-obsessed wannabe he’s become.
Knowing what he’s about to tell her pains him as he drives to the coffee shop where she waits for him. But in the long run, it will be for the best. Griffin has not a sliver of doubt about the fact that he needs to fix himself before he does any more damage to Aria.