Chapter Fifteen Maren #2
Known For: Responsible bone structure, joy supervision, looking at Maren Brooks like she invented oxygen.
Maren’s mouth dropped open.
Griffin went completely still.
Tyler rocked on his heels. “Too subtle?”
Griffin looked at him.
“Run.”
Tyler did.
Immediately.
Fast.
Maren burst out laughing.
She could not help it. Griffin stood there, card in hand, face blank with the specific horror of a man discovering his teammates had formed a creative writing committee around his feelings.
“It is not funny,” he said.
“It is incredibly funny.”
“It is inaccurate.”
“Which part?”
His eyes cut to hers.
The laughter caught in her throat.
Oh.
She had walked herself directly into that.
Griffin looked down at the card again, jaw tight.
Maren reached for it.
He let her take it.
Their fingers brushed this time.
Neither of them pretended otherwise.
Her voice softened. “Do you want me to talk to Beckett?”
“No.”
“I can.”
“I know.”
“It would be satisfying.”
“I am sure.”
She glanced toward the beach, where Tyler was hiding behind Nate and pointing at Griffin like a man seeking diplomatic protection.
“Do you want the intro changed?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
His gaze returned to her.
Something in his face shifted, surprise maybe.
Because she had not teased. Had not made him defend why it bothered him. Had not told him to relax because everyone was joking.
Good.
She was learning too.
Maren tucked the card under her arm and pointed at him with her sandwich. “For the record, I personally think responsible bone structure is strong copy.”
His mouth almost moved.
“But,” she continued, “looking at me like I invented oxygen is maybe a lot before lunch.”
His eyes stayed on hers. “Only before lunch?”
Her breath caught.
A hot little silence opened.
This man.
This controlled, careful, breakfast-delivering man had apparently decided to develop timing overnight, and Maren did not appreciate the threat.
She took another bite of sandwich because carbohydrates were safer than eye contact.
Griffin watched her, the barest smile still at the edge of his mouth.
Then Coach Doyle’s whistle cut across the dock.
“Hayes.”
Griffin’s smile vanished.
Maren swallowed. “Saved by authority.”
“Temporarily.”
That sounded like a promise.
Her stomach did a deeply unprofessional swoop.
Griffin walked toward Coach Doyle and the gathered players near the beach, leaving Maren on the dock with half a breakfast sandwich, one forbidden intro card, and the realization that the man had said temporarily like he planned to come back and continue being dangerous.
Rude.
Extremely rude.
Maren finished the sandwich because Ava was terrifying, then made her way toward the player intro station.
Beckett stood beside the Lake Briar Cup scoreboard wearing a headset microphone he definitely did not need and a sleeveless Ridgeview shirt that looked like it had been chosen for drama rather than function.
Maren held up the card.
“No.”
Beckett clutched his chest. “You wound me.”
“You wrote Griffin’s oxygen line.”
“I wrote truth.”
“You wrote evidence in a custody battle.”
“Between whom?”
“Common sense and your need for applause.”
Cooper, seated on a cooler nearby, said, “Common sense waived custody.”
Beckett looked proud. “Thank you.”
“That was not praise.”
“I receive selectively.”
Maren sighed. “We need player intros that are funny without turning anyone into content they did not choose.”
Beckett’s expression softened at the edges.
He glanced toward the dock where Griffin was standing with the team. “He really hated it?”
“He really did.”
“Because of the Maren part?”
Maren froze.
Beckett noticed.
Of course he did. For a man who performed ninety percent of his feelings with hand gestures, he caught things too cleanly sometimes.
Maren lowered the card. “Because it was too public.”
Beckett’s face changed. “Right.”
There was no joke in the word.
A small relief moved through her.
“Sorry,” he said.
Maren blinked. “Oh.”
“I got caught up in the bit.”
“Everyone keeps saying that like it is a lake virus.”
“It might be.”
She smiled faintly.
Beckett took the card from her and pulled a marker from behind his ear. “Let us revise with dignity.”
“Can you do that?”
“No, but I can try.”
He crossed out the last line and rewrote it.
GRIFFIN HAYES
Position: Forward
Known For: Responsible bone structure, elite timing, protecting joy from poor planning.
Maren studied it.
“That works.”
“It lacks my preferred emotional violence, but growth requires sacrifice.”
“Proud of you.”
“I know.”
Cooper looked at the card. “Acceptable.”
Beckett beamed. “High praise from the dead sea.”
Cooper sipped lemonade. “Lower your voice.”
Maren collected the revised cards and began filming quick behind-the-scenes shots of player intros.
Beckett rehearsed with ridiculous seriousness.
Tyler kept trying to sneak into frame. Miles asked if his intro could say “beloved by gravity” because yesterday’s paddleboard fall had become a minor online moment.
The morning flowed.
Good content.
Clean content.
Team content.
Exactly what she needed.
And yet, no matter where she pointed the camera, she remained aware of Griffin.
He was with the team, listening to Doyle, sometimes nodding, sometimes answering. He looked focused, but every few minutes his attention found her.
Not for show.
Not for the crowd.
Just checking.
No. Not checking.
Looking.
Like he wanted to.
Maren’s chest warmed every time.
Terrible.
The player intro segment began at nine.
Maren stood to one side, filming as each player jogged through a makeshift tunnel of lake towels held by kids from the crowd. It was chaotic, adorable, and only barely controlled, which meant perfect.
Beckett announced each player with flair.
“Miles Hartley, known for speed, questionable balance, and the emotional resilience of a man who has fallen off two paddleboards and still believes in water!”
Miles ran through to cheers.
“Cooper Vale, known for elite saves, deadpan wisdom, and muting the group chat while somehow knowing everything in it!”
Cooper walked through slowly, gave one reluctant wave, and immediately exited the spotlight.
The crowd loved him.
Tyler’s intro required Denise to approve it.
“Tyler Donovan, known for energy, courage, and learning this weekend that consent is also for content!”
The crowd erupted.
Tyler bowed so deeply he nearly hit his head on a cooler.
Then Griffin stepped forward.
Maren’s phone steadied instinctively.
The crowd noise shifted.
Not because they knew. Not exactly.
Because Griffin carried attention differently than Tyler or Beckett or Nate. He did not grab it. He made it gather.
Beckett read the revised card.
“Griffin Hayes, known for responsible bone structure, elite timing, and protecting joy from poor planning.”
The crowd cheered.
Griffin jogged through the towel tunnel, expression pained but not angry.
At the end, he looked toward Maren.
Just once.
One quick glance.
But the camera caught it.
Of course it did.
Maren’s thumb hovered over the screen.
The glance was small. Nothing like the almost-kiss photo. Nothing like the carry clip. Nothing like the stolen video.
But somehow, it felt more intimate.
Because no one else would know what it meant.
She lowered the camera.
Maybe not everything had to be posted.
Maybe that was becoming a problem.
After intros, the first Lake Briar Cup event began: Alumni Skills Remix.
It was half actual hockey skills, half lake nonsense. Players had to stick-handle a tennis ball through cones in sand, shoot foam pucks into floating targets, answer Ridgeview trivia, then tag an alumni partner for a paddle sprint.
Maren filmed from everywhere.
On the dock.
Near the cones.
Behind the scoreboard.
From a low angle near the floating targets.
She caught Nate laughing when Ava hit a foam puck into a bucket on her first try.
She caught Cooper’s brother Carter missing three trivia questions about his own freshman year and blaming “historical revision.” She caught Tyler celebrating too soon and getting passed by a nine-year-old in a kayak demonstration.
It was excellent.
And exhausting.
By eleven, the sun had climbed high, the crowd had thickened, and Maren’s camera roll was a masterpiece of summer mayhem.
She was reviewing footage near the water station when her professional email pinged.
Carter.
Subject: Portfolio Follow-Up
Maren opened it so fast she nearly dropped her phone.
Carter’s message was short, direct, and better than coffee.
Maren,
Good meeting you yesterday. I meant what I said. Send your portfolio when you have a chance. I have two upcoming regional campaigns where your event-story approach could be a strong fit. No pressure on timing during the weekend. Just wanted to put it in writing.
Best,Carter Vale
Maren stared.
Then read it again.
Then a third time because apparently joy sometimes required verification.
Two campaigns.
Strong fit.
In writing.
No pressure.
Her chest expanded so fast it almost hurt.
This was it.
Not the whole dream, maybe. Not a guarantee. Not a contract. But a door. A real door.
She pressed the phone to her chest and closed her eyes.
For two seconds, she let herself have it.
Then someone said, “Good news?”
Griffin.
Of course.
Maren opened her eyes.
He stood a few feet away, holding two water bottles this time. One for him. One, she suspected, for her.
He really was relentless in the least dramatic ways.
She lowered the phone. “Carter emailed.”
His face changed.
Not surprise.
Satisfaction.
Like he had expected the world to catch up eventually.
“And?”
“He wants my portfolio. He has two regional campaigns where I might be a fit.”
Griffin’s smile came slowly.
Real.
Proud.
Her throat tightened.
“That makes sense,” he said.
She laughed, unsteady. “You keep saying that.”